


New Rules

by QueenBoo



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, References to Drugs, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoo/pseuds/QueenBoo
Summary: Some people can be ten times more addictive than any drug and give you a buzz just as good. The problem for Noel is going to be breaking his habit.
Relationships: Julian Barratt/Noel Fielding
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	New Rules

**Author's Note:**

> A friend once joked I could take any song and turn it into a fic--and apparently this is true. This short came to me almost fully formed while listening to Dua Lipa’s New Rules (not even an angsty song but somehow my muse made it one). I imagine this being set in the run up to the Future Sailors tour. 
> 
> Guys, I am already sorry for this. Its... A lot. 
> 
> This is not a depiction of a healthy relationship and this all only ever happened in my imagination. Heavy angst ahead, you have been warned.

A regular practice, especially one that is hard to give up.

A habit. 

Even that didn’t feel like the right word anymore. The more it rolls around in Noel’s head these days, piercing his every waking thought, he begins to reevaluate the language he uses in relation to this predicament. In relation to Julian.

Maybe once over, when they were younger men with much more time to spend in each other’s spaces. When not a day would pass without them frantically reaching for one another--hands grasping in the dark. Back in a time before other partners and babies and a sense of constantly being watched by this camera or that reporter. Before careful was their middle name. Back then what they had was as much of a habit as it was a comfort. A need. 

The very thing that had defined them personally and professionally. 

But now? It was becoming the kind of addiction that sent most public figures crashing to rock bottom with no hope of climbing back to the top. And some might argue it is better to be addicted to a person than to a whole host of other substances… but then, Noel could argue it was twice as dangerous when the thing you’re addicted to is self-aware enough to know it’s own power over you. 

They both knew they needed to stop. 

Every time is the last time. Every kiss is a goodbye. Every fuck is a dirty secret. 

Julian will blame Noel for being impossible to give up; will hiss in his ear how intoxicating he is as large hands draw down his fly and dip into his jeans. Noel will come cursing Julian’s name like the man is single-handedly engineering his fall from grace (and in many ways, he is). There won’t be an opportunity to reciprocate; Julian will wipe his hands on whatever blouse or t-shirt Noel happens to be wearing and disappear into the night once more. 

And despite knowing Julian would always listen to him if he said no, Noel never says no. Because he’s beginning to think Julian isn’t the only one dependent on the other. 

Habits are hard to break but if this one doesn’t stop then it will break them. 

They fight more these days. Noel doesn’t like to categorise things as fights--he thinks it's a harsh word to put out there. Too rough. It sounds like butting heads and hurts like a collision. They never used to fight, they used to have disagreements. Differing points of view. 

Now they fight. 

Writing anything is suddenly a lot harder than either of them remember it being. They have another tour coming up, and Noel doesn’t think it was ever this difficult to agree on what they should do. What they should say. Once over as long as it made them laugh it was enough but now? Now it’s like navigating a minefield in the dark trying to please all the moving parts to this pantomime they call a career. 

Trying to please each other, too. 

When they can’t think they fuck and when they fuck they inevitably end up _disagreeing._ It stings, but it’s nothing he can’t get over. They bicker about not doing it anymore. Julian will recite regulations and steps they can take to ensure it doesn’t happen again--keeps Noel at arms length while they clean themselves up--and will lament how it shouldn’t have happened despite the fact _he_ probably started it. Noel doesn’t say a thing. Isn’t entirely sure what will come out of his mouth if he does. 

But ‘ _why do you keep doing this to me’_ and ‘ _I don’t know how to stop’_ would be the top two contenders. 

Noel has felt the after-effects of many different types of stimulants; it’s no secret he leads a bit of a wild lifestyle, but the come down from Julian is by far the worst of them all. 

He can’t sleep after. There’s too much crammed up in his head to ever allow that to happen. Frankly, Noel loses his damn mind for hours after his comedy partner gets him off and then escapes back to his perfect little life with the twins and the posh house. 

Paranoia is a common side effect. Every time could be the last time, it is _supposed_ to be the last time, but he fears the day it truly is. _What if he is gone for good?_ His inner voice will whisper. _What if you wake up tomorrow and he can’t stand the sight of you, pathetic little slut you are._

The only way to exorcise the demons Julian leaves behind is to stay up all night with his music blaring until he can’t hear the slander they spit at him. 

But it’s okay, because the first step to breaking any habit is rules. 

Noel had written himself rules. 

_1\. Don’t pick up the phone…_

It isn’t for work. 

He _knows_ it isn’t for work. 

Noel knows because they had been at the offices together that day, twirling pens and choking on their silence as they tried to come up with something--anything--for the tour they were due to commence in less than six months. It would have behooved them to have an idea of what they wanted to do before agreeing to the thing, probably, but as their popularity grew so did their ambition. And alongside that, their penchant for pre-planning depleted. 

Their motivation depleted. 

After wringing themselves out over the third season, and bleeding themselves dry for the sake of a book… Well, Noel is surprised they can even hold a pen anymore. 

Mostly, Noel can be certain it’s not for work because it’s one o’clock in the fucking morning. 

He’s awake, of course he is, he can’t sleep when there is this much going on. Too many ideas scrambling for position, and only half of them usable, they screech and scream at him whenever there is silence. When he closes his eyes the lot of them gang together and hold up neon signs. So he’s up. He’s painting; CD player assisting him in drowning out everything that isn’t the colours he’s mixing on his palette. 

The first two times it rings he doesn’t even hear it. It’s an Abba kind of night, meaning he wants to swing wildly between crying over their ballads and bouncing around to the more upbeat tracks. And if he’s going to play _‘take a chance on me’_ then it will be at its highest volume--neighbours be damned. 

On the third ring, it happens to fall during a moment that the tracks are changing, so he hears it. Though he doesn’t answer it then either, because he has no desire to leave the detail that currently holds all of his attention--not for what will almost certainly be one of his mates, half-cut and merry, calling in the hopes of convincing him to join them on their ongoing night out.

The fourth time, when it tips from simply receiving a call into someone desperately trying to get his attention, there’s no chance he can in all good conscience continue to ignore it. Even if Julian’s name flashing periodically in the dark inspires a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

There aren’t many good reasons someone might call in the early hours of the morning, but there’s even fewer good reasons why _Julian_ would be calling him at this time. 

He certainly only gets this intensely persistent when his vision has tunneled past social niceties and landed somewhere in desire. 

An abandoned paintbrush is twirled in Noel’s free hand, the other cradling the still ringing phone as he weighs up just how tireless Barratt plans to be in his bid for his attention tonight. Oddly enough, as it normally goes with these two, Noel has barely considered the option of answering when he finds his body completing the motion for him. 

“What’s up, Ju?” 

“Was thinking about that bush baby line.” Seven words and Noel can tell how drunk he is. 

“You did _not_ call me at this hour to talk about the script.” Noel admonishes, rolls his eyes so hard it almost gives him a headache. He can’t hear anything except the other man’s breathing, so he isn’t _out._ Julian never goes out these days, not with the twins, which must mean--“Julia’s going to throw a fit if you keep getting pissed in your study where she can’t watch you be daft.”

“I’m never daft.” 

“You’re always daft when you drink.” And it was true, Noel had many fond memories of the man literally rolling about the floor drunk. Times way before Noel was known as the party boy of the duo, back when Mr Barratt would have claimed that title easily--a teetotal Noel following behind and trying his best to ensure he made it home safely at the end of the night. 

Of course, there wasn’t press around then to watch how the tables turned with age. 

For a long moment, nothing is said. More than a moment actually, at least five minutes. Noel paints one handed, the other clamping the phone to his ear. He can’t bring himself to hang up, because Julian is a man made of subtext and if he calls then there was a reason. So he does his best to swirl and dash, ensuring that on the other end of the phone where his comedy partner’s breath is the only sound, Julian knows he is still here. 

Until it starts to grind on him a little bit. “What do you want, Julian?” 

“You.” 

_...you know he’s only calling ‘cause he’s drunk and alone._

_2\. Don’t let him in…_

Noel is not too proud to admit that there have definitely been moments in his life where intoxication went past innocent fun and deeper into something that twisted and warped reality around him. He’s been drunk enough that the world tilts on its axis and high enough that creatures from another dimension followed him home--though that isn’t much different from his sober mind, to be perfectly honest. 

But tonight he is certainly not drunk enough to be imagining the hunched shape of Julian on his doorstep when he steps out of a taxi. 

“Ju?” 

The man doesn’t say anything at first, just smiles at him with painful uncertainty. Like he’s expected to be sent away, Noel gets a turbulent anxious feeling in his stomach that maybe they had arranged to meet tonight and he had completely forgotten. He might have started developing a habit of doing that recently. Thankfully though, this smile Julian is sending him isn't the disappointed one; the one he gets when he shows up to a meeting two hours late and wholly unsure of what day it is. It's not the sharp twist of _'I should have seen this coming'_ , instead it's hesitant and careful. 

Like he knows he might not be welcome. 

The night isn't late--at least, it's not to Noel's standards--just gone eleven. He'd come home early because they had press tomorrow, and he was getting rather tired of the tabloids insisting he couldn't hold his already questionable sanity together. It simply wasn't true; he was more than capable of holding himself together… it was Julian he was struggling to hold onto as of late. 

Regardless, they needed to promote the third series. To promote the book. Promote the tour they were about to embark on. Basically promote themselves as a duo. Wherever possible Noel needed to treat himself like a product and if the packaging looked run down and tired, no one would buy it. 

He'd have thought early nights would be had all round, to be honest. Adds an extra layer of surprise to finding Julian hovering meekly by his door. 

It's setting a lot of alarm bells off, actually. 

“You okay?” 

There’s a look in his eye. He’s tired. Worn out. Julian had always appeared on Noel’s radar as an exploding star; he was bright and erratic with a kind of untamed energy that Noel craved to be near. These days, though, that light is dimming. It’s being domesticated. There isn’t the raw, jagged, feel of a man with too much to say and no words to say it… instead he’s just raw. Exposed. Vulnerable. 

_And so tired._

Noel already knows he can’t say no to Julian when he looks like this, and not that he would even if the option were to present itself. “Come on.” He sighs fondly, digs his keys from his pockets with a renewed sense of urgency.

Julian allows himself to be led through the door by the hand. Noel doesn’t flick the porch light on, he needn't, they are as familiar with each other as they are themselves. So as soon as the door clicks shut, Noel doesn’t need light to guide him up onto his toes to deliver a gentle kiss to Julian’s cheek. 

There’s no heat, it’s a question. 

Julian turns his head, their noses brush, they do nothing but share their breath for a beat too long. 

“You can’t stay.” Noel whispers gently. “There’s a car coming for us in the morning. We can't be seen like this.” 

“I won’t.” 

And with that assent, Noel leads him by the hand to the bedroom. 

_...you’ll have to kick him out again._

_3\. Don’t be his friend…_

_Lunch?_ _  
__My house, will cook._

Innocuous enough. Lunch was something friends did after all. Going to one another’s homes to enjoy said lunch was _definitely_ something that mates do. It was polite, friendly. Welcoming each other into their individual worlds... it shouldn’t have been that suspicious. But it was. 

Mostly because Julian could be startlingly protective over the home life he had forged. It was his and his alone, no one was welcome there but the people it had been crafted _for._ Meaning Julia and the twins. The rest of the world as far as Julian was concerned, held no place in this sanctuary. Even Noel. 

_Especially_ Noel. 

And on some level, he can understand why. Noel doesn’t fit into domesticity very well. He was a wild card to Julian’s stability. He was the party boy, Julian was the family man. It was an act that on stage worked well but in private? Well, it threw them off kilter a little bit, because the differences were less obvious in private. 

Sometimes, Julian looked at Noel and remembered a life he still craved. 

The lack of responsibility. The freedom. The desire to be silly and openly affectionate and careless in how they moved through the world. Noel represented a youth Julian was struggling to cling onto, and yet at the same time, a maturity enough to keep producing more and more work even when he was two days into a week-long bender. 

A jealousy which, of course, put at risk the life Julian actually had. 

So Noel, often, isn’t welcome in the Barratt household. 

There are only two distinct reasons why Julian has ever invited him into the house. Those being; to write--there were a few incidents of Julian’s fatherly responsibilities preventing him from getting anywhere else in order for them to create. Or to have sex--granted, that was becoming an infrequent occurrence because Julian can see his wrongdoings painted on the world like spilled ink. 

Meaning the outline of Noel’s body is left on almost every surface and it’s getting a bit hard for Julian to accept he’s the only one who is aware of it. 

So the fact this rendezvous fell into neither of their aforementioned parameters to meet (those rules Julian continually sets once again blurring at the edges)... It meant this was a little suspicious. 

He arrives with a knot in his stomach, a dizzy feeling swirling around his head. Hope and fear and equal measure. And yet, he's greeted with a gentle smile by a soft bear of a man he feels he hasn't seen the likes of in years. 

In his own environment, he's a whole other creature. 

Julian's always had a confidence about him, despite being awkward--it was contradictions like that which had attracted Noel in the first place--but here? There's nothing but flooring certainty in every move he makes. As he talks and stirs pasta sauce, he lulls Noel into a sense of familiarity the likes of which he hasn't felt since he was in his twenties and living in a pretty dingy flat in Edinburgh. 

There’s bottles over every surface, dummies, bibs. Tiny pairs of clothes on the radiators drying. The whole house smells like baby powder. The air is tainted with the aura of young humans, but is eerily silent. 

It shouldn't feel familiar; the version of this man he is chatting with. Noel knows, this is not the same person he initially fell in love with all that time ago, there's too much the same and inherently different. His jokes are identical but worn, like an old coat. The northern lilt he used to have on every other word hangs around, but its softer. Time in London training it out of him slowly. Noel fears the day its gone, that piece of him. And mostly, all that affection Julian has always had in him--hovering below the surface--ready to hand out to the right people… A select few people… It's still there. But Noel isn't entitled to it anymore. Not in the same way he was once over. 

Now he's only allowed it when Julian says he can have it; and otherwise, he will always come second to the two new lives Julian had a hand in making. 

Lunch with Julian that day is a small blessing in some ways. Because they find it in themselves to laugh together. When they talk it isn't about work or babies or each other, it's about art and music and sports. 

For a while, Noel can see salvation. 

For a while. 

At some point Julian slides into a seat beside him, drags fingers over the back of his neck, kneads there with his fingers, and says. “Julia has taken the twins to her mothers for the night.” 

And Noel knows he isn’t going to be going home tonight. 

_...you know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning._

_4\. If you’re under him..._

It’s never bad. 

Contact has always been electric between them so by rights the sex is like lightning. And these days, with the weight of the world on their shoulders, and too much to talk about and not enough words to possibly categorise it, it’s like the whole damn storm when they come together. It's the biting chill and the static, the deafening crack of thunder followed by eerie silence. 

Julian is almost always calling the shots. A little because Noel likes it like that, but mostly because Julian has to be the one to initiate. He is the one who feels like he’s sinning so Noel is powerless to get what he needs unless the weak constitution of the older man allows it. 

Noel has to wait until Julian starts it or he gets blamed for being too enticing. Too difficult to resist. 

So it’s no surprise when they’re in the office, door locked and curtains drawn with the intention of getting some work done and they hit a roadblock, Julian’s answer is to drag him close by the hair and kiss him until he’s drunk on the taste. 

There’s really no ideal way to fuck in the office space. The table would work, but that’s not what either of them want. So they end up on the floor. They don’t even get undressed. Julian is more than happy to have Noel bare from the waist down, his own jeans only open enough to get his cock out, and then he’s finding the fastest and least painful way to prep him. 

He demands eye contact while he fucks him. Rough jerking thrusts and hissed breaths. Noel’s legs are looped around Julian’s clothed waist and the fingers in his hair pull so hard the older man grunts with the sting. But this kind of sex isn’t about being nice to each other. It’s as much a punishment as it is pleasure. 

And when Julian comes in him, cursing Noel's name into his mouth like the filthiest prayer you'll ever hear, it stings like a slap. He jerks Noel off until he paints his shirt with his own come, and the momentary bliss of an orgasm is dampened with the empty feeling left behind. 

They breathe together. Just for a moment like the old days when all they had was each other and they could spend hours basking in the glow of their love making. 

They don’t make love anymore, they share pain instead. 

And then Julian’s biblical sense of regret sets in. He detangles, grabs a box of tissues from a nearby desk and cleans himself up--hands the box to Noel so he can do the same and he’s uttering. “We can’t keep doing this.” 

Noel knows. But he doesn’t say a word. 

_...you ain’t getting over him._

Breaking a habit was never easy. But if he could learn to follow his rules, then Noel might just stand a chance of quitting Julian. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. It's not often I decide to hurt the boys this badly but the idea wouldn't leave my head.
> 
> Hope I haven't ruined anyone too much haha! 
> 
> As ever I can be found in tumblr:
> 
> @queen-boo / @anciientboosh


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